Toni L.P. Kelner - Laura Fleming 06 - Death of a Damn Yankee

by Toni L. P. Kelner

  “How do I know you won’t use this in court?” he asked.

  “Because it won’t be legal—your name isn’t Max Wilder, is it?”

  He hesitated, but said, “Okay, I’ll sign it. But one thing in here is wrong. Marshall just thought I was snooping around. The sabotage was Grace’s idea.”

  Though I didn’t say anything as I scratched Marshall’s name out and had Max initial the change, I was glad that I hadn’t completely misjudged Marshall.

  Max signed the paper with a flourish, and handed it back to me. “What else?”

  “In a little while, my cousin Willis is going to get sick at work, and he’s going to call and ask you to work the rest of his shift for him. You’re going to say yes, and Thaddeous and Augustus are going to escort you to the mill. Then they’re going to sit outside the gate and make sure you don’t try to sneak out. Once you get inside, I want you to show this around.” I pulled another one of Marshall’s printouts from the folder.

  “What’s that?” he said.

  “It’s the thing that got Marshall Saunders killed.”

  He blinked a few times, but took the printout. “Productivity by shift? Saunders was killed over a bunch of statistics?”

  “That’s right.” I’d looked at the graph I don’t know how many times before finally realizing what it meant. Marshall had input productivity data for the past five years, and had then broken it down by shift. Even though the number of workers and the number of socks produced was roughly the same on both the day and night shifts, productivity was much lower on the night shift. The difference was in the number of imperfect socks, or “seconds.” Far more socks flunked inspection at night than during the day.

  Of course, that didn’t necessarily mean anything shady was going on, so I’d tried to consider innocent explanations first. Maybe the day shift’s inspectors weren’t thorough enough. Since the triplets sometimes worked in the inspection room, I’d called and asked them, but they assured me that the supervisor was as strict as could be. Or maybe the night shift’s inspectors were too thorough, but that didn’t seem likely either. Working in inspection was tedious work, particularly at night, and the folks on night shift tended to nod off. Carlelle said she’d seen more than one inspector facedown in a pile of tube socks.

  The only reasonable explanation I’d come up with was that somebody who had access to the inspection room had been stealing socks for at least the five years that Marshall had graphed. Stealing socks didn’t sound like a big deal to me, but from the numbers on Marshall’s graph, it would have added up to quite a bit of money. Maybe it wouldn’t have been enough to make most people kill, but that didn’t mean that it wouldn’t be enough for somebody.

  According to the triplets, most people don’t want to work the night shift, which meant that the turnover rate was high. Without going through employment records, they’d only come up with three people who’d had access to the inspection department for as long as five years: Floyd Cabiniss, the night supervisor in inspection; Tavis Montgomery, night shift supervisor for the whole mill; and Burt’s secretary Miss Hunsucker, even though she didn’t work at night, because she was in charge of tracking production.

  I was guessing that Marshall had figured out that one of those three was stealing, and had confronted him or her that night he went to work at the mill. In the case of Miss Hunsucker, he might have called her. Somehow the thief had convinced Marshall to go to the old warehouse, and once they were there, he or she had murdered him.

  I’d also asked the triplets if they could find out whether Floyd or Tavis had been absent from the mill long enough on the night Marshall died to have killed him, but unfortunately, they said there was no way to be sure. Both of the men’s jobs required a fair amount of moving around the mill, meaning that there was no way to verify where either of them had been. And Miss Hunsucker lived alone, so she had even less of an alibi.

  If Junior and I’d been on better terms, I’d have given her those three names and let her take over, but I didn’t think she’d listen to me. She’d just assume that I was still grasping at straws to prove Linwood innocent. Maybe she would have investigated, but I was afraid she’d move too slowly to stop the buyout and, more importantly, too slowly to keep the killer from coming after Richard and me again.

  Max was still looking over the graph. “I have to flash this around the whole mill?”

  “Not the whole mill, just the inspection department. There are only a couple of dozen people in there—you should be able to get to all of them.” Though Montgomery, Cabiniss, and Miss Hunsucker were our chief suspects, we didn’t want to assume that in case there was a veteran inspector that the triplets had forgotten. And, of course, Miss Hunsucker wouldn’t be there at night, but I reasoned that if Max eliminated everybody who was there, we’d know she was the one.

  “Then what?”

  “If we’re right, the killer will recognize that graph and what it means. It shouldn’t be too hard for you to tell which one is upset by seeing it.”

  “How am I supposed to figure that out? When he comes after me?”

  “I imagine a man with your experience with human nature will be able to spot it.”

  “What if I can’t?”

  “Then we turn you in to the police.” He started to object, but I said, “I know, we can’t prove anything. But if there’s any evidence out there, Junior Norton will find it. Not to mention the fact that I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find out that you’ve been involved in other shady schemes. You can change your name, but you can’t change your fingerprints.”

  That was another bluff. We wouldn’t involve Junior without Burt’s approval, and I didn’t think he’d give it. But Max didn’t know that.

  “You could be putting me into a dangerous situation,” he said, his voice quavering.

  “Tell that to the people working with the mill equipment you sabotaged.”

  “Hey, nobody got hurt.”

  “No thanks to you,” I shot back. Several of the incidents could have cost people fingers or hands, or even worse. I felt some guilt for using Max as a stalking horse, but not as much as I’d have felt if I’d sent in Thaddeous or Willis or the triplets. The killer knew they were my family, so would suspect anything coming from them as a trap and react accordingly. Max had no connection to us, which should protect him.

  Max thought it over. “It sounds like I don’t have a choice.”

  “I’m afraid not,” I said cheerfully. Goodness knows Richard and I had done our best to come up with a situation in which he wouldn’t.

  “What do y’all get out of this?”

  “Never you mind about that.” I wasn’t about to tell him about Richard and my deal with Burt. I checked my watch, and said, “Willis should be calling in five minutes or so, in case you want to change clothes or anything.”

  “With these three watching?” he said. “No thanks.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  For the next few minutes, we all stayed where we were without speaking. Richard, Augustus, and Thaddeous kept looking threatening, and Max looked as if he was trying to come up with a way out. It was a relief when the phone rang.

  I grabbed it. “Willis?”

  “Hey, Max. You busy? I don’t feel so good.”

  Willis, like his father, keeps his words to a minimum. That was as many words as Willis usually said all day, and I appreciated his effort. “Max is on the way. You can go on, just the way we planned.”

  “Thanks,” he said, and hung up.

  “You’re on,” I said to Max. “Once you get what we want, my cousins will bring you back here—you don’t even have to work out the shift. You get a free pass out of Byerly and a guarantee that nobody will come after you. But if you try anything funny, we go straight to Junior.” Thaddeous and Augustus, still wearing their poker faces, started to escort him out, but I stuck out my hand. “I think I’ll hold on to your car keys.”

  Max didn’t like it, but he gave them to me. I didn’t think
he’d be able to get away from my cousins, but if he did, he’d have to do it on foot.

  Richard watched as the three of them drove away, then turned to me with a look of relief. “I had no idea how hard it is to look mean.”

  “But you did it so well.”

  “Thanks. I think.”

  “It’s a tribute to your acting ability,” I assured him.

  “What do we do now?”

  “We wait.” Max might find the killer right away, or it might take him most of the night.

  At least I could finally wash my face and brush the worst of Aunt Daphine’s handiwork out of my hair. I only wished I’d brought along a change of clothes—my feet hurt and I’d much rather have been wearing a pair of jeans loose enough to sit down in comfortably.

  Then we spent an hour or so searching the house. We’d hoped to find something else to link Max to Grace Saunders, but either he was too smart to keep anything around or he’d hidden it too well for us to find it. We did find a stash of driver’s licenses and credit cards made out in a variety of different names, but had no idea which of them, if any, gave Max’s real name. I would have liked to cut them up and flush them down the toilet, but Richard thought that might be going back on our deal.

  After that, there was nothing to do but sit and watch television. After a while, the events of the past few days caught up with me, and as Richard kept watch, I dozed on the couch.

  It was around midnight when Richard nudged me awake. “They’re back,” he said.

  From outside we heard three car doors slam, and a minute later, Max, Augustus, and Thaddeous came in.

  “Well?” I asked.

  “I made him, all right,” Max said with a smirk. “The second he saw me with that printout, he turned white as a sheet. He tried to get me to go off alone with him, too, but I was too smart for that.”

  “Who?”

  He looked around, as if a thought had just occurred to him. “You know, I’m going to miss payday next week—a little cash sure would come in handy.”

  Without hesitating, I said, “Richard, call Junior.”

  “Wait a minute!” Max said. “I just remembered I put a few bucks away for just such an occasion.”

  “That’s a surprise,” I said sarcastically. “Now give—who is it?”

  “Would you believe Mr. Politics himself? Tavis Montgomery.”

  “Tavis Montgomery,” I said slowly. I don’t know that he’d have been my first choice, but it did make sense. As head of the fire brigade, he’d have known just how to set the fire that killed Marshall, while his position as night shift supervisor would have given him plenty of opportunity to play games in the inspection room. His goal of becoming a mover and shaker would cost money—probably more than he could earn legally at the mill—and that same goal provided the motive. If his thefts had come to light, he could have kissed his plans goodbye.

  “Now that you’ve got what you want, are we square?” Max asked.

  “You’re sure it’s Tavis?” I said.

  “He couldn’t have been more obvious if he’d tried. Now if you’ll hand over my car keys, I’ll be getting out of here.” I fished the keys out of my purse and gave them to him, and as he headed for the door, he said, “I won’t say it was a pleasure, but it was educational. If you ever decide to change lines of work…”

  “Aren’t you going to pack?” I asked him.

  “Nothing here worth packing,” he said.

  I thought about reminding him of the phony IDs he was leaving, but decided it was no skin off my nose if he didn’t take them.

  Thaddeous and Augustus were between Max and the door, but after I nodded, they moved out of the way and he opened the door. Only he didn’t get all the way out. He backed into the room, his hands held at shoulder height, as Floyd Cabiniss stepped inside, a pistol aimed at him.

  Chapter 35

  “I was just on my way out,” Max said as he backed farther into the room, obviously trying to get somebody between him and Floyd’s gun.

  “Not yet, son,” Floyd said.

  “You weren’t supposed to come in until I was gone,” Max said, sounding outraged.

  “I’m afraid I need you to help me out. Now, all of you step back. I may be old, but I can still shoot.”

  Thaddeous and Augustus did as he said, but unlike Max, they were trying to get between Floyd and me. Richard was tensed, too, and I was afraid somebody was going to try to jump the old man, getting shot in the process.

  “You son of a bitch!” I said to Max as a distraction. “You set us up!”

  “It’s just business—nothing personal.”

  “That’s right,” Floyd said. “There’s nothing personal about any of this. I’m mighty sorry about what I’ve got to do, but y’all haven’t left me any choice.”

  I said, “I suppose you didn’t have any choice last night when you tried to burn down our house with Richard and me in it.”

  Floyd shook his head, and darned if he didn’t look sorry. “If y’all hadn’t come to town right now, everything would have been all right. I wasn’t too worried about Junior, but you two… Everybody in Byerly knows that once y’all start snooping around, nobody’s secrets are safe.”

  I’d have felt more complimented if it weren’t for the gun. As it was, I would have preferred a less sterling reputation. “How long have you been stealing socks to sell at the flea market, anyway? Were they worth killing Marshall? Are they worth killing us?”

  “It ain’t the socks. It’s my life we’re talking about. I’ve given nearly thirty years to that mill, but if Burt Walters found out about those socks now, he’d yank my pension away. I’ve got plans—I didn’t work all those years to be left with nothing.”

  I thought about the Winnebago Aunt Maggie had told me about, and how Floyd wanted to see the country. No, it wasn’t just a bunch of socks to him.

  “Max,” Floyd said, “I need you to tie these folks up.” As he spoke, I noticed the coil of nylon rope Floyd was carrying—it’s funny how having a gun aimed at you makes you miss details. The awful part was realizing that it was the same rope that had been used to tie up Marshall Saunders.

  “You said I wouldn’t have to get involved,” Max whined.

  “You’re already involved, whether you like it or not,” Floyd said matter-of-factly as he handed Max the rope. “Augustus, you sit down in that easy chair.”

  “Mr. Cabiniss, you don’t want to go doing this,” Augustus said.

  “I don’t have a choice,” he said again, and aimed the gun at me. “Now sit down, or I’ll shoot her.”

  Floyd was smart. Augustus might have risked getting shot himself, and Thaddeous and Richard would have, too. But neither of them would risk my life. As for me, Richard had my arm held so tightly I knew I couldn’t move quickly enough to do any of us any good, especially not when I was still wearing those stupid high-heel shoes. It wouldn’t have even done any good to yell for help—Max’s house was too far from anywhere for anybody to hear us.

  After Max trussed Augustus to the chair, Floyd had him pull out a kitchen chair for Thaddeous. Then he tied Richard and me together and tethered us to the couch. I don’t know if Max learned to tie knots as a Boy Scout or in con-man school, but he knew what he was doing. I could barely move a muscle.

  “That’s all of them,” Max said when he was done.

  “I’m afraid not,” Floyd said, sounding more sorrowful than ever. “You’d better sit down, too.”

  “Hey!” Max said. “We had a deal!”

  “I’m as sorry as I can be, but I can’t take the chance. You’re going to have to stay here with the others.”

  “Listen, old man—”

  “Sit down!” Floyd said, his voice filled with steel. “With what I’m fixing to do to people I’ve known all their lives, do you really think I’d hesitate to shoot you?”

  Max sat.

  I was hoping that Floyd would let down his guard while tying Max, but he had it planned. He made a loop with the rope
while out of Max’s reach, then lassoed him from a few steps away and tightened the bonds enough that he could safely move in closer and finish the job. In no time at all, Max was as tightly tied as the rest of us.

  Floyd stepped toward the door. “I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to knock y’all out first the way I did with Mr. Saunders. There’s too many of you and I don’t have time. I’d like to at least use a bullet to make it easier for y’all, but I’m afraid somebody would hear, even as far as we are from anybody. It’s funny how the sound of a gunshot carries at night, and besides, the police can do a lot with ballistics these days. I am sorry.”

  “We appreciate your concern,” I said scathingly, and gave him a look that I think Aunt Maggie would have been impressed by.

  Floyd shook his head again, and went outside. A few minutes later, we heard splashing and caught a whiff of gasoline as liquid seeped in under the door.

  “Jesus, he’s going to burn us alive,” Max said, thrashing in his chair.

  “Wiggling around is just making the line tighter,” Augustus remarked.

  “You’ll cut off your circulation if you keep it up,” Thaddeous added.

  “What’s the matter with you people?” Max cried. “Don’t you know what’s happening? He’s setting the place on fire!”

  “Of course he is,” I snapped. “You’re the one who was stupid enough to make a deal with an arsonist.”

  “How did I know he’d double-cross me?” Max said, still struggling.

  “Why wouldn’t he? You double-crossed us.”

  “That’s different. Cabiniss and I want the same thing—to get out of town. I don’t know what y’all want, and without knowing that, I couldn’t trust you.”

  It hadn’t occurred to me that Max would be that distrustful of our motives, but I guess a con man has to be paranoid. I only wished he’d been a little more paranoid with Floyd.

  “I don’t suppose you left any slack in our ropes, did you?” I said.

  He just kept struggling, which was as much of an answer as I needed. Idly I wondered if he’d even bother to let any of the rest of us go if he did break free.